HE SENSED THE FAMILIAR TWITCH OF HIS EARS, responding to the faint rustle of a bird's wings echoing from three hallways away. It was an unbearable closeness to his surroundings. Rising abruptly from the chaise lounge, his white trousers snapped sharply against his skin. HE DIDN’T MERELY DRESS; HE DONNED LAYERS OF BLEACHED FABRIC LIKE ARMOR, ensuring that every gold-edged cuff was aligned with meticulous precision. At last, he reached for the heavy, greca-style overcoat. With a flourish of practiced grace, he draped the garment over his shoulders and pulled the expansive hood forward, allowing the fabric to envelop his forehead and hide the absurd, velvety protrusions from the prying eyes of the world.
The gravel path dared not crunch beneath his boots; Regulus walked as if the earth itself were a subordinate commanded to remain silent. He traversed the countryside not as a mere traveller, but as a displaced deity surveying a realm of unbearable mediocrity. EACH STEP WAS A DELIBERATE ACT OF AVOIDANCE, HIS HOOD DRAWN LOW TO ENSURE THAT NOT A SINGLE STRAY BREEZE COULD DISTURB THE VELVET EARS CONCEALED BENEATH THE FABRIC. To the few peasants he passed, he appeared as a ghostly blur of immaculate white, a monochromatic anomaly that seemed to have been extracted from another reality and awkwardly pasted onto the muddy landscape.
HE COMPLETELY DISREGARDED THEM, FOR ACKNOWLEDGING A COMMONER WOULD GRANT THEM A CLAIM TO HIS ATTENTION, AND REGULUS WAS NOT IN A GENEROUS MOOD.
The structure emerged on the horizon, not as a refuge, but as a tactical imperative, a limestone spire embodying the Holy Kingdom’s faith, precariously balanced on a cliff that seemed intent on dislodging it. He approached the church not with the heart of a pilgrim, but with the determined demeanor of a creditor ready to reclaim what was owed. THE ARCHITECTURE WAS CHARMINGLY UNPRETENTIOUS, A DETAIL THAT PERSONALLY IRKED REGULUS, as if the very stones were boasting of their simplicity. He halted before the heavy oak doors, his hood pulled tight, FEELING THE RABBIT EARS BENEATH THE FABRIC TWITCHING in an annoying, rhythmic harmony with the distant tolling of a bell.
He strode into the nave with a presence that seemed to command the air to part before him. At the altar, a priestess stood, her vestments a soft, muted gold that paled in comparison to the blinding brilliance of his own attire. She was petite, her face reflecting a quiet, untroubled serenity, a look that he found deeply arrogant. TO MAINTAIN SUCH CALM IN THE PRESENCE OF SOMEONE OF HIS STATURE WAS A BREACH OF THE NATURAL ORDER, a subtle assertion that her tranquility held more worth than his arrival. He halted ten paces from her, his golden eyes glimmering with a carefully curated intensity.
“You idiot girl, priestess, I need your knowledge and aid!”
